Spaghetti Bolognese
by Lord Valerius
Summary: It all started with spaghetti bolognese, Stiles still shivering from the cold pool water and Derek's limbs still occasionally unresponsive. Then everything ends. The accused murderer and confirmed Sourwolf offers Stiles a deal he cannot refuse. (ONE-SHOT).


It was strange, Stiles mused, to have his best friend hovering over him like a Mom-Wolf would do to her pups.

On one hand, it filled him with this sense of belonging, like his friend would never go anywhere without him. One the other hand, Scott's hand was resting a little too close to his groin and it was making him really uncomfortable.

Automatically reaching down to shift his best friend's hand away, Stiles felt his eye twitch as it just slipped straight back to his inner thigh, only the knowledge that Scott was doing it completely on accident stopping Stiles from doing some drastic.

"Scott," he began as he moved his friend's hand away. "I'm cold. I'm also wet," he added when Scott's mouth opened to argue, "And since I'm only human and have a human immune system, I think I deserve your jacket".

Scott merely sent him a look that screamed annoyance at his cheap tactics and concern at his human-ness, before stripping off his lacrosse tracksuit jacket and handing it to Stiles, who didn't hesitate to trade it for his wet dripping one.

"Thanks bro," Stiles murmured gratefully as Scott pulled him closer and generously shared his werewolfy body heat.

"No prob," Scott dismissed quietly, "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm -" _thunk_ "- fine," Stiles exhaled with a flinch before they both turned their heads to see a growling Derek pushing himself up off the cold tiles of the Beacon Hills High School swimming pool, rolling over to glare down at his unresponsive legs. "Derek? Not so much," he finished, unable to hide the amusement in his voice.

"Shut up Stilinski".

"Love you too Sourwolf," Stiles called back as Scott tugged him away from the alpha werewolf.

"Can you uh, can you _not_ bug him tonight?" his clearly traitorous best friend whispered, "Boyd ran off with Erica which means _someone_ has to look after Derek until he's on his feet again".

Already seeing where this was going, Stiles somehow managed to stop himself from talking and instead focused his attention on just staring at Scott with his best 'I'll rip your throat out, with my teeth' look.

"Scott…" (Oh hey look, he was talking) "Scott, Scott, Scotty Scoot Scooter -" ("Yeah, I get it" muttered Scott regretfully) "- I think you need to rewind yourself there and beam me up onto the same page as you, 'cos I get the feeling that we are _sooooo_ not on the same one, perhaps we're even in separate books, because the words coming out of your mouth?" Stiles shook his head dramatically. "My page has me going home and eating curly fries after a long hot shower. _Your_ page has me going home, having a long hot shower, and then getting devoured by Mr. Tall, Dark, and I like to eat fluffy bunnies over there," Stiles pointed out, his voice breaking _just a little bit_ as he finished that last sentence.

"Boyd and Erica have already gone," Scott argued weakly, shooting Derek a slightly fearful glance that made Stiles want to run and leave his best friend for dead. "And I've got to stay with Mom tonight, she hurt her prostate today at work and she can barely walk".

"Girls don't have prostates dumbass," Stiles deadpanned.

Sneaky bastard trying to wiggle his way out of work. Stiles would be proud of him if he weren't throwing Stiles to the dogs as he did it... literally dogs too by the way.

Scott instantly looked shifty, "Er, my Mom does?" he asked hesitantly, making Stiles sigh slowly.

"You're ditching me with the Sourwolf while you go show Allison your little Happywolf aren't you?" Stiles demanded, swatting away Scott's hands as his best friend reached for him nervously.

"What?" Scott blurted looking confused (a look that was most common on his uneven face), "No! Mom was walking down the stairs in front of the hospital when she slipped and landed on her prostate!" he exclaimed loudly, his voice echoing around the swimming pool, "You know? That bone above your butt?" he clarified as he pointed at his own.

Letting out a slow groan, Stiles reached out and held his hand face-up, "Hand please," he instructed his best friend, waiting until Scott had placed his hand in his own before lashing out and slapping him with his own limb. "That's her coccyx you Stupidwolf!" he snapped as he slapped Scott again for good measure.

"You know you don't have to add 'wolf' to the end of an adjective every time right?" Scott whined as Stiles slapped him for the third time for complaining, "And stop that!" he ordered as he pulled his hand away.

"Yes I do Scott, I really really do," Stiles denied calmly.

"Listen. Mom can barely walk, so I have to drive her home," Scott explained, "And since your Dad is working tonight, it means that you're the only person free to make sure Derek doesn't -" _splash!_ "- try drown himself again…"

Sighing as he stripped off Scott's jacket, the still wet Stiles dove into the pool and grabbed hold of Derek's leather jacket, before propelling himself upwards again and dragging his pack mate/friend/associate/future murderer out of the pool for the second time that night.

"You are _so_ a safety hazard Derpwolf," he muttered under his breath before looking up at Scott, only to find the two of them alone in the pool area with the double doors swinging shut behind his cowardly best friend. Blinking after Scott, Stiles slowly turned his head to stare at the scowling Derek who was trying to massage life back into his legs once more.

"I am _so_ not helping you shower," he declared bluntly, making the alpha pause before turning eyebrows of doom (trademark pending) on Stiles. "No! Bad Alpha! No begging!"

* * *

"Ow".

Jaw aching as he tried to contain his laughter, Stiles quickly ducked his head as he felt Derek's pre-emptive glare on his back. Focusing on dishing out the reheated leftovers in front of him onto two plates, he tried to keep his mind as empty as his ADHD would allow, trying not to think about the events going on behind him.

"Stop laughing," Derek's put out voice muttered from behind him.

"I'm not laughing," Stiles denied instantly, his voice too tight and too high for him to be telling the truth.

"You're laughing in your mind," Derek countered.

"Not answering," Stiles dismissed innocently, "I plead the fifth".

"Stiles…"

Unable to stop his head from whipping around, Stiles stared at Derek with a dropped jaw, the alpha werewolf looking uncomfortable under Stiles' unhindered attention.

"What?" Derek asked defensively, shifting uncomfortably in Stiles' father's chair as he held his limp hand to his chest.

"We're _bantering_ ," Stiles exhaled slowly, still staring at Derek. "And you haven't threatened to kill me in like an _hour_! To think," he continued as Derek tried to muster up an indifferent look, "All we needed to become friends was to for us to get naked together!"

"Although maybe I shouldn't put it that way," he corrected with a breathless exhale, shaking his head to try clear it of the crystal clear memory of Derek's firm muscular thighs he'd been 'blessed' with, when he'd been forced to help undress the Alpha for his shower/bath earlier.

"Stiles," Derek half-growled half-whined as his nostrils flared, the sound running straight down his spine. "Just bring me the food".

"Right, sorry," he apologized, turning back to yesterday's spaghetti bolognese and carrying both plates over to table, sliding into the chair beside Derek quietly. "Uh, eat up," he muttered as he handed over a fork, not entirely sure of the 'protocol' for something like this.

It wasn't every day that Stiles sat down to eat with his future-murderer, or whatever he and Derek were exactly. What was he supposed to do? Just act casual? Because Casual Stiles and Derek hated each other. It was only I-don't-want-to-die-so-I'll-put-up-with-you-for-now Derek that liked him, and even then 'liked' was a bit of a strong word. But here was Derek, noisily slurping away at spaghetti like nothing was wrong.

"Stiles, stop thinking and eat," Derek ordered suddenly, making Stiles jump and almost knock his plate to the ground.

Nodding stiffly and digging in, Stiles tried his best to act as normal as he could without getting spaghetti everywhere like he normally did. And if you asked him, Stiles was doing a pretty good job of it, and it wasn't like Derek would notice otherwise as he made an absolute _mess_ of himself while eating – and he couldn't even blame it on the kanima's venom as by now that was only effecting smaller limbs at random.

"Do you want the Bite?"

Choking on his spaghetti and spluttering sauce everywhere, Stiles cleared his airways and whipped his head around to stare at Derek. Of all the things that he expected to hear from the sourest Sourwolf of all time, those five words were not even on the list.

Seriously, he had a list.

There was 'I'm the Alpha' coming in first. 'Do this or I'll tear your throat out, with my teeth' in a close second. Third place was a tie between the non-verbal Eyebrows of Utter Judgment and the sub vocal 'Rawr'. While fifth place was a simple 'Stiles. Shut up'.

But no, nowhere on that list were the words 'Do you want the Bite?'

Naturally this meant that when Derek Hale uttered them in between bites of leftover spaghetti bolognese like nothing was even wrong, Stiles' first thought was admittedly the first thing he said in response.

"What's the average time for kanima venom to leave a werewolf's system? And why didn't you tell me it caused hallucinations?"

Derek's response was to sigh slowly, reminding Stiles creepily of his father as the alpha werewolf stared down at his meal uncomfortably. "I'm fine now, Stiles," he half-growled as said Stiles wondered if he should offer to pat the werewolf on the back or something, "The kanima's venom only serves as a paralytic".

Stiles froze. "Wolfsbane?"

"No, Stiles".

"Some other supernatural anti-wolf drug that you haven't mentioned to me yet?" he questioned, saying the alpha's name slowly when Derek only sighed again, now beginning to look regretfully. "Wait! Can you not talk about it? Is it like an oath that says you can't talk about it so you have to give subtle hints and I'll shut up now," he finished when Derek's eyes flashed red angrily.

"You... you saved my life," the werewolf forced out unhappily, "In the pool".

"Oh please," Stiles dismissed lazily, waving a hand in Derek's direction as he shoveled more spaghetti onto his fork and then twisted it slowly, unable to eat at a time like this. "You would have done the same thing for me. Well no, you wouldn't have, but for my own sanity I'm just going to pretend you would".

"I would have," Derek confessed bluntly, looking away to glare out the window. "And you did. I..."

"Use your words, Sourwolf," Stiles suggested gently.

Derek growled (again). "You saved me when you didn't have to, you could have run and it wouldn't have touched you," he forced out unhappily.

Stiles flinched, shifting uncomfortably on the chair as he put down his fork. "Actually I think it was after me," he blurted, "I'm the one who saw it in the garage, the kanima didn't know you or Erica so why would it have gone after you?"

Derek was the one to falter this time. "You saved me when you didn't have to, you could have run and it wouldn't have touched you," he repeated, "It wouldn't have touched you because I would have stopped it, not because it wasn't after you".

Pausing for a moment to bask in the feels of 'Derek wants to protect me', Stiles pulled his mind back to the present where Derek was poking at the spaghetti expectantly.

"You're serious about this, aren't you?" he realized slowly.

"I owe you my life," Derek confessed awkwardly, setting his own fork down and twisting in his chair to stare at Stiles. "Nothing I could give you is worth that, nothing but the Bite".

Narrowing his eyes, Stiles pushed his chair away and stood. "Do you actually _want_ to give me the Bite? Or are you just trying to make it up to me when you don't need to?" he asked suspiciously, because Stiles didn't want to become a werewolf because of a reason like _that_. It was the same reason he'd turned Peter down on his offer for the same thing, well actually he'd mostly turned him down because he didn't want to be Second to a crazy murderous Alpha Peter, but it was also a little bit because he didn't want to become a werewolf like that.

If he was going to become a werewolf it would be on his own terms. And with the mess that was Gerard and the kanima, when it came to protecting himself, his Dad and his loved ones, a baseball bat just wouldn't cut it. Claws would though… get it? Claws would cut it? Damn Stiles is a genius.

And part of him had been afraid that Peter would Bite him anyway, but Derek... Derek wouldn't. If Stiles said 'No' then Derek would just accept that, end of story.

"I wouldn't have offered if I didn't _want_ to," Derek countered, not meeting Stiles' eyes.

"Can we tell my Dad?" Stiles asked slowly.

"Of course," Derek agreed immediately, "He's your father. Scott, Erica and Boyd have _chosen_ not to tell their parents, but it's their choice".

"Okay".

"Okay?"

"Okay," Stiles repeated, "But... just not now? _After_ all of this is over? Once we deal with the kanima and Grandpa Argent?"

"Okay," Derek said again, blinking up at Stiles.

"That's it? Just 'Okay'?"

"Just okay," Derek confirmed, "What else do you want me to say?"

"Okay is fine," Stiles assured him, moving back to the table and grabbing his fork and shoving the spaghetti into his mouth. "Okay is perfect".

* * *

 **SPAGHETTI BOLOGNESE**

* * *

 _ **So this story was something I posted a while ago, but was never really happy with. In the end I took it down and deleted like the bottom half of it and replaced that with another Teen Wolf idea I had where Stiles was offered the Bite and then things happened.**_

 _ **I don't own Teen Wolf, unfortunately, or Sterek would TOTALLY be a thing.**_

* * *

 **SPAGHETTI BOLOGNESE**


End file.
